Changed
by ShenandoahShadows
Summary: She's been upset before. How is this time different? Can Draco show her that he has truely changed? No romance- purely comfort/friendship/Cute pretective Draco.


Disclaimer: Is this necessary? Obviously JKR owns Harry Potter… Sadly…

A/N: So this is the first story I've ever written. Ever. About anything. So I'm a little nervous about everyone's reactions. So please, review. I know. Every author says that. But this is new for me, and I want to know if I should keep this up and how to improve my writing.

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"DAMMIT GRANGER!"

Draco Malfoy had just completed his potions essay. His potions essay that was _six rolls of parchment, _when the head girl slammed the portrait so hard his hand shook, causing his bottle of ink to slip and pour all over his final two rolls, not to mention his expensive Italian jeans.

_Fuck _he thought, glancing in her direction as the head girl ran towards her half of their shared dormitory. He caught a glimpse of her tear-stained face as she looked in her direction. Their eyes met for a split second before her tears started to fall faster and she wheeled around to enter her room. He shuddered as the door slammed so hard the walls shook. He heard the sound of breaking glass against her wall just before she let out her biggest sob yet.

_What the hell is her problem? _He wondered as he got up from the couch and walked slowly to her room. _Probably another fight with Weasel. Although those usually end with quiet breakdowns, not the door-slamming, ink bottle-throwing kind._

This was not the first time she had come back to their dorm late at night, crying. The first couple times Draco had ignored her, but one particularly bad night, for reasons he himself was not sure of, he had followed her to her room and held her as she sobbed about Weasley's lack of tact. Since that night, there had been an unspoken agreement of sorts. Their hatred for each other had subsided, the bickering level dropped considerably. They did not consider themselves friends, but, well… they didn't know what to consider each other. They couldn't be friends. No. Their real friends (that is to say, their friends from their respective houses) could never accept that. So they settled for being content with each other. Many nights, they sat together in their common room in silence, working on homework, just being with each other. That was enough. He comforted her when she was upset, she talked him down when he was particularly pissed about something. That was the extent of their relationship. In a way, they were each others' rocks. Something solid to hold onto when real life caught up to them.

_Here we go again_ Draco mused as he softly knocked on Hermione's door. "Granger? Can I come in?" he softly asked.

"No. Please, Malfoy, just leave me alone" came her reply. This was odd. Usually, she said nothing, which he always took as a yes to enter.

He ignored her and attempted to open the door. It was locked. _She never locks me out. There's something seriously wrong._ He took his wand out of his pocket and unlocked the door, allowing him entrance to her suite.

One look at Granger told him that her tears were not the result of the normal lovers' spat. One of her eyes was blackened, her shirt was ripped around the neck and there were dark, finger-shaped bruises around her wrists. As she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes, he saw something different in them. Usually, she was simply upset, and confused. But this time, she looked frightened, hurt. She loved Weasley, and he loved her, even if he was rather daft at times. Draco knew that Ron could never do something like this to her.

"Who? Who was it?" Draco asked, stepping towards her, huddled on the ground.  
She looked at him and shook her head, then dropped her gaze.

"Your _friends."_ She spat the second word at him.

Draco was confused. He gently lifted her head by the chin , forcing her to look him in the eye. As she met his gaze, he understood. "The Slytherins." He said. It wasn't a question.

Tears began streaming down her cheeks as she choked on her words. "C-Crabbe. Goy-Goyle. Zabini. M-most-ly Z-Zabini."

He didn't know what to say. He couldn't even bring himself to act surprised. He knew instantly what had happened. He knew better than anyone. Blaise Zabini was an arrogant prick. Malfoy acted as if they were friends to keep up with appearances, but he couldn't stand him. Zabini thought that all Muggleborns were the scum of the earth. Draco was ashamed that he had once shared the same view.

As Draco moved to sit next to Hermione, he was shocked at the speed she used to move away from him. "_Don't touch me." _She snarled at him with an alarming amount of anger.

"Gr- Hermione. Please. I know what happened. Please let me help you."

"You don't get it. Your friends. They tried to _rape _me. They wanted to fucking _kill_ me Malfoy. Just because I'm a _Mudblood._ You're just like them. You see me the same way they do. So don't you come anywhere _near me. Ever."_ And with that, she completely broke down.

"You know that's not true, Hermione. I don't see you like that. At least, I don't anymore. You know I've changed." Draco murmured as he walked towards where she sat perched on the bed. "I'm not like them."

"How do I know that, Malfoy? For the past six years, you've tormented me. Called me a Mudblood every chance you get. How do I know you've changed?" Hermione's words were so soft that Draco had to strain to hear her, but she said them with so much anger it made him cringe. She was still moving away from him as he tried to comfort her.

"I've been different this year, Hermione. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. You can't possibly say I'm the same arrogant little bastard I've always been." Draco was pleading with her. He had changed, and he wanted nothing more that to prove it to her.

"How do I know you've been genuine?" Her words were barley whisper. Tears were still falling fast down her face.

As Draco looked in her eyes, she still saw fear. He knew why. She was afraid that he was like his "friends," that he was going to hurt her based solely on her blood. But it wasn't a matter of blood. Draco knew that. Their blood was the same. Not in the magical sense: she was a Muggleborn, he was a Pure-Blood. There was no changing that. But they both shared human blood. There was nothing inside him that made him any better than her. He knew that now. And he was going to prove it to her. He knew what it meant to prove it. He was going to have to show her something that he had never shared with anyone.

"Let me show you something." Draco whispered. His hands moved around his waist and he pulled his black shirt over his head. He looked at Hermione as her eyes got wide.

"What happened to you, Malfoy?" She looked him in the eyes and saw that his silver-grey orbs were beginning to water. She moved his gaze down to his chest, where several jagged scars ran in a scattered pattern all over his torso.

Draco took a deep breath to steady himself and began speaking in a low voice. "Over the summer, my father hired three muggle housekeepers. I'm still not sure why, the house elves always did a fine job. I think he just liked bossing around the girls, treating them like scum. One of them was our age, turning 17 in August. Her name was Adelaide. At first, I viewed her as I always viewed you, beneath me. (I don't deny it, I always thought I was better, and I'm sorry.) One day, I saw her in the garden. She looked happy. She looked beautiful. I began watching her daily, and one morning, I went to speak to her, and during our conversation, I realized that I was falling in love with her."

At this point, Draco paused to look at Hermione. She had stopped crying now, but she still looked frightened, but for a different reason. She had already seen the scars, she may have guessed where this story was going.

"We became close. We talked all the time, I used magic to help with her jobs, so we would have time to ourselves. I told her who I was, what I was. She accepted me. About three weeks before I left to come back to school, I slept with her. My father walked in."

Hermione was crying again. She had moved closer to Draco now, she was leaning against him. He wasn't looking at her, but it looked as though he was staring off into the distance. Hermione knew he was remembering the scene. Draco glanced into her watery eyes before continuing.

"He raised his wand. Probably to kill her. Or me. I don't know. But I grabbed mine and disarmed him before it was too late. So he did the next best thing. He pulled a dagger out of his cloak. I don't know where it came from, it looked like something Bellatrix would have. He attacked me with it. I passed out, and when I woke up, Adelaide was gone. My father left me a note, he had killed her."

They were both crying now. Hermione reached out and gently traced two of the scars on his chest with her fingers and realized how deep the cuts must have been. Draco reached out and took her hand in his. They sat there for a minute, silver eyes looking into deep brown ones. As he looked at the injuries that the Slytherins had inflicted on Hermione that night, rage surged inside him, stronger than ever.

"I'm so sorry, Mal- Draco." Hermione's voice was full of emotion as she squeezed his hand.

"It's not as if it's your fault," he said thickly. "It's my father's, and his Death Eater view on life." He looked up, willing the tears not to fall from his eyes. "I hate him," Draco whispered softly, finally giving in to his emotions and letting the tears fall.

"You've changed. Your story proved it to me; I'm so sorry I didn't see it before."

"My behavior in the past made it hard for you, I know. And I am truly sorry, Hermione. For everything. Calling you names, ridiculing you and your friends. Especially for what those bastards did to you tonight." He reached up and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "No one deserves that, especially someone as brilliant as you."

She didn't say anything. She just looked at him, and then placed her heard on his shoulder and wrapped her arms tightly around his middle. Draco laid his head on hers and draped his arm around her waist. They sat there for a while, not saying anything, just thinking about everything that had transpired that night. They weren't in love; their emotions for each other were purely platonic. They were simply friends. It was clear to them now: the past was the past. They had both matured; both realized that there was more to everyone than meets the eye; more to each person than blood status. It had taken six long years, but they were on the same side at last; they were true friends now. For better or worse, they would stick together.

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